


People Who Live In Glass Houses Shouldn't Throw Bones

by on_the_wing



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, M/M, Nobody is, Who's a good boy?, dog au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:02:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing
Summary: Sorry means never having to say you're in love.Did I mention this is dog au? THIS IS DOG AU (kind of like Sparta, but with more clothes). All the fighters are dogs like Phobos says, but this time it's literally true. All their navigators literally own them. This is not problematic, because cute things are never problematic.A birthday fic for prismatic-cannon, who created a lot of dog au! Still unfinished because executive dysfunction and literary sprawl, bleargh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Cast of Characters:**  
  
**Humans:**  
  
**Ethan** ( _Abel_ ), a grad student and occasional waiter at his gay uncle's upscale restaurant. Owner of Cain.  
**Jules** ( _Phobos_ ), a social media manager. Secretly extremely anxious. Owner of Deimos.  
**Ardhendu** ( _Selene_ ), a programmer. Semi-reluctant owner of Helios (his relatives moved back to India and dumped Helios on him). Grumbles a lot but secretly loves him.  
**Aidan** ( _Ethos; name borrowed from violetnyte_ ), office manager at some kind of bleeding-heart little nonprofit. Owner of Praxis.  
**Keeler** ( _Keeler_ ), a dog trainer. Owner of Encke.  
**Chris** ( _Porthos; name borrowed from portalipsis_ ), a market analyst and Jules’ coworker, ex, and BFF. Owner of Athos.  
**Luna** ( _Luna_ ), a programmer and Ardhendu’s coworker. Owner of Artemus.  
**Mr. Cook** ( _Cook_ ), Jules and Chris’ boss. Owner of Bering.  
**Hayden** ( _Hayden_ ), no one knows wtf he does. Owner of no one.  
  
_Ethan, Jules, Ardhendu and Aidan all have dogs with Problematic Behaviors; they know each other from Keeler’s dog training class._  
  
**Dogs:**  
  
**Cain** , a mutt (probably mostly German shepherd and collie). Lived in the parking lot of a shopping center and just followed Ethan home one day. Uncontrollable but so charming that Ethan can’t bear to get him neutered.  
**Deimos** , a Boston ~~terror~~ terrier/Japanese terrier cross. Never barks. Never fights. Occasionally bites. Collects sticks and dead things. Complete weirdo. Phobos’ unofficial emotional support dog.  
**Helios** , a blue heeler. Loves everyone. Destroys everything.  
**Praxis** : a Doberman pinscher. Was used in dog fights and got kicked out on the street when he lost an eye. Guilt and anxiety up to the gills (dogs have gills right?). An insufferable snob.  
**Encke** , a bluenose pit bull. Mr. Perfect. Works with Keeler as a role model dog. Secretly eats trash when Keeler’s not looking. The only being who can make Cain behave.  
**Athos** , a teacup Pomeranian. Enthusiastic and friendly. Has no behavior issues, but Chris has taught him to leap out of briefcases and jacket pockets and scare the shit out of people. Nobody believes his stories, but they’re all true.  
**Bering** , an enormous mastiff. He’s very calm but loves attention and has a sneaky sense of humor.  
**Fenrir** ( _Valentina_ ), a glamorous malamute who lives next door to Helios. He desperately wants to go out and play with her but mostly has to settle for watching her through the window. Sometimes she looks up at him and he’s convinced she’s sending him cryptic messages.  
**Artemus** ( _Artemis_ ), a Weimaraner. Neighbor and friend of Encke, and successful graduate of Keeler’s training program.

* * *

  
  
Canine screams of outrage erupt from the gate to the dog park, and Jules and Ethan look up from their seat on the edge of the fountain to see Aidan sailing through at an alarming speed, towed by Praxis as if he were on water skis. He makes a wild grab for the fence bars on the way through but misses, dropping the leash and collapsing on his side, probably saving his shoulder from dislocation. Cain hurtles into Praxis and they explode into a snarling cartoon fightcyclone.

From his position at Jules’ feet, Deimos looks up from his stick and watches with what appears to be mild interest.  
  
“Praxis!” Aidan shouts, stumbling to his feet and reeling toward the fight. “Praxis stop it! You’re going to _regret_ this later, you know you will!” Praxis shows no signs of regret, or of functional eardrums.  
  
Jules frowns. “Uh, shouldn’t you go do something?”  
  
Ethan sighs. “I keep telling you, dog fights always resolve on their own.”  
  
“Um, sure, when one dog _rips the other’s throat out_. Aren’t you even a little bit worried about Cain? Given that he’s fighting a dog that was a _professional killer_?”  
  
“Oh come on, you know that’s just speculation. Praxis is so sweet. Anyway, Cain is really tough.”  
  
Jules lifts a pale gold eyebrow and flinches dramatically at the snarls. “Yes, he definitely looks sweet. Remind me how sweet he is when you’re taking Cain to the vet. You _do_ take him to the vet, don’t you?”  
  
Ethan glares. “Of course. He got all his shots right away.”  
  
“But you still haven’t had him neutered yet.”  
  
“How would you like having _your_ balls chopped off?”  
  
They both wince automatically. “Deimos got over it, didn’t you, honey?”  
  
Deimos glances up briefly and snaps a twig off his stick with a piercing crack.  
  
“I rest my case,” says Ethan.  
  
“Deimos is just working on one of his art projects. He’s very creative. And calm. And civilized. Maybe if Cain were neutered he would be able to direct his energies in more…constructive ways.”  
  
“ _Praxis_ is neutered and he’s still fighting.”  
  
“He doesn’t fight with any of the others,” Jules points out. He leans a little closer. “Even though he’s a trained assassin. A killer for hire. A butcher for dog biscuits.”  
  
Ethan snorts in spite of himself, imagining Praxis sneaking out to moonlight as a hitdog. “I dunno, he seems more like the hardboiled dogtective type—oh hey, there’s Ardhendu!” He waves and shouts across the park. “Ardhendu, where were you?”  
  
The muscles in Jules’ heart-shaped face contract very, very slightly.  
  
Ardhendu slowly approaches, dragging Helios, who’s barking his head off and trying to get closer to the fight. “Fenrir was outside and Helios wouldn’t leave until he’d played with her for god, twenty minutes at least. She always knocks him on his ass but he loves it. Speaking of which…” He inclines his head toward the dognado. “Is this a new form of open-air gladiatorial combat? Should I sign Helios up? Get him a little net and trident?”  
  
“Ahaha, uh, no. No, I just figured that, you know, they’ll work it out themselves.”  
  
Ardhendu nods. “It’s probably dangerous to interfere, anyway. Unless you really know how to do it.”  
  
“Of _course_ I know how to do it. I just think it’s better to let them work it out.”  
  
“Mm hmm.” Ardhendu sits down on his usual bench and wrestle-pets Helios to distract him from the combat.  
  
In the background, Cain emits a piercing, furious squeal as Praxis rips out a clump of fur. Aidan wails in distress, halfheartedly shaking the last droplets from his water bottle over the combatants.  
  
“Ughh FINE,” growls Ethan, and jumps up to stalk over to the battle, his flipflops slapping manfully against his heels.  
  
“Ethan, wait, that’s—Jesus Christ.” Jules scrambles after him. Deimos picks up his stick and trots along too.  
  
“You just have to grab their hind legs and lift them up like a wheelbarrow. That way they can’t bite you. It’s best if you do it to both dogs at once though. Aidan, have you done that before?”  
  
“Have YOU done that before?” Aidan stares at him with round blue eyes.  
  
“Um, no. But how hard can it be?”  
  
_“Jesus Christ on a donkey in the shade of a lilac tree,_ ” spits Jules. “Of all the—Deimos, let me borrow that, okay?” He wades into the fight and waves the stick in between the dogs, ignoring the chorus of shouts from behind him. Cain snaps reflexively at the intrusive object, but as soon as it comes near him Praxis lets out a terrified yelp and bolts for his Aidan. Cain lunges after him, but Ethan makes a flying leap and manages to grab his collar. He drags his snarling and shouting prisoner back to the fountain with considerable difficulty. Jules scoops up Deimos and follows him, letting Aidan stay by the gate to soothe Praxis.  
  
Helios, still on leash, greets them with a happy bark and a play bow. Ardhendu gently smacks his own forehead.  
  
“What were you _thinking_?” Jules plops himself down, Deimos still in his arms. He pets the terrier with unaccustomed vigor. “You could’ve been ripped to pieces.”  
  
“I would NOT. Why do you always have to undermine me?”  
  
Deimos looks up sharply.  
  
“I’m not _undermining_ you, I’m trying to keep you from being _mauled_. You’re welcome, by the way.”  
  
“I was NOT going to be MAULED. If anyone was going to be mauled it was YOU. Poking them with sticks is just going to work them up more!”  
  
“I WASN’T mauled. It worked!”  
  
“Yeah, by coincidence! They were probably winding down already!”  
  
“They were NOT and you know it! _Ugh!_ Why are you so pigheaded?” Jules drops Deimos on the ground and digs in his bag.  
  
Ethan unconsciously feels his turned-up nose. “I am NOT! You— _you_ are!”  
  
“My _god!_ This isn’t kindergarten!”  
  
“Are you sure,” mutters Ardhendu from the sidelines.  
  
“Well stop—hitting people with sticks then!”  
  
“I did not HIT people with STICKS—”

 

***

  
The human toes (classification _familiar/suspicious/not mine_ ) swing in front of Deimos’ face, their flipflop abandoned on the pavement below. He tries to concentrate on his stick—a beautiful aromatic poplar with only the slightest of irregularities to be smoothed away—but the voices above are getting louder and more tense by the moment.  
  
His human is brave, but very nervous. He was upset by the fight between Cain and Praxis, and now he’s upset again. Deimos feels an unfamiliar twisting in his gut. He should have done something himself. His human shouldn’t have had to put himself at risk. Humans are so big, but so soft and tender and fragile. Well, except for those big clumping hind feet of theirs.  
  
The _not mine_ voice rises again. The toes swing like hammers. They’re swinging at _his human_.  
  
Deimos drops the stick and strikes.  
  
There’s an unholy shriek from above.  
  
An unholy shriek from behind.  
  
An unholy snarl from Cain in front.  
  
A chorus of barks from further off.  
  
Pushing back a panicked whine at the thought of Cain’s disapproval, Deimos positions himself in front of his human and snarls noiselessly back.  
  
_Familiar/good/mine_ hands scoop up Deimos and tuck him close, and the scenery rocks away much faster than usual.

  
  
***

  
  
“Slow down,” says Chris on the other end. “Tell me again what happened.”  
  
“I left,” Jules wheezes. “My bag. There. With. My inhaler.” He coughs and doubles over.  
  
“Okay, then, just take a minute. Sit down. Are you sitting down? Don’t answer that, just sit down if you’re not already sitting down. Okay. Now take a deep breath. Just one. Slowly, okay?”  
  
Jules slumps down against a tree trunk and sucks in a thin rattling breath, up close to the phone so Chris can hear it.  
  
“Good. Now do the next one. Just one at a time.”  
  
He clutches Deimos close to him, then carefully loosens his grip. He doesn’t want to squash his baby, doesn’t want Deimos to have to fight for breath like he’s doing now. His fierce little dragon baby. His sweet little criminal. Don’t think about that now. He concentrates on breathing, on Chris’ calm voice. After a while the tightness in his chest eases somewhat. “Okay,” he croaks. “I have to…go back. Shouldn’t have left.”  
  
“All right. Just take it easy, okay? Go slowly.”  
  
“I will. Call you back later.”  
  
“Okay. Take care.”  
  
He sets Deimos down and clips the leash onto his collar. Not that Deimos ever runs off unless Jules tells him to go play, but now he’s shown himself A Dangerous Dog and he’d better keep him on the leash to show that he’s taking it seriously. Ethan is going to have a _field day_ with this. And so will Ardhendu, in his dry deadpan way. _Stop it_ , he tells himself. Ethan could actually be hurt. He was bleeding a little. Isn’t drawing blood the thing they use to measure whether a dog bite is serious, even if it’s just a scratch? He knows he looked it up last time but he can’t even remember. Deimos never drew blood before, just left little bruises. Is Ethan going to sue him? Would he do that? Will they take Deimos away and—stop it. Stop it stop it stop it. He forces himself to breathe.  
  
They make their slow way back to the dog park. Deimos stops to sniff at a tree, but after the first impatient tug he trots attentively by Jules’ side, making no effort to stray. What a good boy! What other dog would put up with him like this? He thinks of Chris and feels a flush of guilt, but it washes away without leaving a mark. He’s given Chris plenty of chances to fade away since their breakup last year, but he seems determined to stick around. _Maybe_ , Jules thinks, not for the first time, _I’m just easier to get along with when you don’t have the responsibility of dating me._  
   
He peers through the gate to the dog park, and relief settles over him as he sees his bag still sitting on the edge of the fountain. Ethan and Ardhendu are gone, which is also a relief until he remembers that he fled the scene of the crime and he can’t come back and own up if there’s no one to own up _to_. He makes his way back to the fountain and digs in his bag for his inhaler. While he waits for the medicine to work, he looks around and sees Aidan in the distance, playing with that godawful scarred one-eyed Doberman. Aidan gives him a cheerful wave, and after a second Jules tentatively waves back.  
  
Praxis looks over and hesitates, starting toward them, but Aidan calls him and he leaps after the nasty chewed-up blue frisbee Aidan insists on bringing every week. Jules shudders. _Good. Stay away._ He still can’t understand why a dog like that, a really big, dangerous dog who gets into screaming snarling fights and can’t be controlled, gets to run around loose, while who knows what might happen to his quiet little Deimos, so calm and well-behaved except for that _very_ very occasional quick little nip.  
  
Jules pulls out his phone and types “my dog bit someone” into the search engine. After a few petrifying moments he shoves his phone back in his pocket and closes his eyes. “Nut up,” he mutters to himself. He digs out the phone again and dials up Keeler. Keeler will have Ethan’s number, and even if he won’t give it out, he can pass on Jules’ contact info to Ethan. He _won’t_ be a coward, even if he did panic at first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxis ponders the true nature of a "good boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking too fucking long so I'm just posting the first little bit I have for the moment.

Aidan crouches at the door, gazing into Praxis’ face and rubbing behind his ear (only on the side with the intact eye—he learned quickly that Praxis will startle if you come at him from a direction he can’t see). “Okay, I’m going to work now. I left the radio on for you. I promise I’ll come back at the end of the day. Will you be a good boy for me?”  
  
Praxis stares back at him with his liquid brown eye, and lets out a tiny whimper.  
  
“I know you can. Bye, sweetie.” Aidan kisses him on the top of the head, stands up, and gently closes the door behind him.  
  
Praxis sighs, and his toenails click on the floorboards as he paces from the living room to the kitchen and back again. _Be a good boy,_ he thinks darkly. _But what makes a good boy? Is it ripping other dogs to shreds and never suffering defeat? I failed at that, spectacularly. I was a literal spectacle._ He whines and drops his head.

_Is it enduring the insults of curs without the slightest response? I still fail at that. I don’t even try._

_Is it staying silent and alone on the floor for the whole day? Complete failure there._

_Is it looking up and smiling and wagging your tail? I don’t smile very well, and I barely have a tail to wag._

_Is it protecting your human without hurting other humans? I guess I’ve managed that so far, although judging by how he acts I’m still doing something wrong._

_Guarding our shared territory? I do that, but he doesn’t seem to understand that it’s necessary._  
  
_Prowess in battle. Self-control. Stoicism. Charm. Temperance. Vigilance. Which is it? Is it all of them? Is it none of them? I could understand if being a good boy were about doing things you find difficult or unpleasant or frightening. But I’ve seen humans tell other dogs they’re good when they haven’t done anything at all, or even when they’d just done something bad and been reprimanded. And one human will punish you for what another praised you for, and vice versa. I wish they would just decide._  
  
_No, that’s not fair. He’s been consistent unto himself. The first one was consistent too. Maybe being a good boy is about doing what your human wants, and what your human wants might be different from what another human wants. But…_ he stops, an uneasy feeling of defiance growing in him. _There are things other than that, that are always right or always wrong. I know it. I KNOW it._  
  
_But do humans know it?_  
  
_No no no, don’t think like that. They know more than we do. They must have reasons we don’t understand. And mine is—_ his mind shears away from the unthinkable word, the very idea that a dog could pass judgment on a human. _—he’s kind. He’s wise. I have to trust him._  
  
_I love him. He loves me. No one ever loved me before. I wish he would come back. He said he would come back—remember that._

He carefully stands up on his hind legs, front paws on the windowsill, and looks out the window for signs of his human. Nothing. He drops back down again. _I wish he would come back NOW! I wish he would pet me and talk to me in that quiet voice._ Praxis’ own voice rises up out of his chest, the howl that reaches across unknowable distance for the beloved one, the missing, the unseen. He paces in an uneasy circle, then pads over to his bed and settles down, burying his nose in the sweaty, faded t-shirt Aidan left for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to recap:
> 
> Ardhendu = Selene  
> Chris = Porthos  
> Ethan = Abel  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Fenrir = Valentina

“Remember—express sympathy, but don’t apologize.” Chris tilts his head close to Jules’ ear.  
  
“I know. I know.”  
  
“First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”  
  
Jules lets out a muffled snort. They advance resolutely through the gate.  
  
“Oh god he’s got crutches. Can it really be that bad? Do you think he missed work?” Even if he made it to the dog park (and maybe someone drove him there), how could he wait tables like that? _Maybe he’s trying to guilt trip me? I don’t know if I hope it’s that or not._  
  
“Maybe he slipped in some organic local crème fraîche and fell on his knees in front of a cute busboy.”  
  
“Oh my _god_ Chris.” Jules giggles quietly in spite of himself. _Don’t think about Ethan…doing that. Don’t._  
  
“I guess a jumpscare would be a little much today…” Chris pulls a wriggling Athos out of his pocket and sets him down, and he bounds off to greet the other dogs.  
  
Jules unclips Deimos’ leash and tells him, “Go play, honey.” Deimos looks up at him, short tail waving uncertainly. “Go play! Be good.” His voice cracks a little. “Go!”  
  
Deimos shakes himself, then turns and trots toward the others.  
  
Jules feels reflexively in his pocket for his inhaler. He’d like to feel for Chris’ hand, but he’s not a _baby_ and besides, it would send the wrong message. Several wrong messages. Ethan looks around, sees him—hot jolt of fear!—and his gaze slides off and back to Ardhendu, who hasn’t bothered to look up from his phone. Ethan says something Jules can’t catch, something with a determinedly bright tone, and this time Ardhendu looks up. One elegant eyebrow shoots up, but his eyes drop immediately, signaling his retreat to his own private Switzerland.  
  
“You can do it,” Chris murmurs.  
  
“Of course I can!” Jules lifts his chin, takes a deep slow breath, and strides forward so fast that Chris has to hurry to catch up.  
  
***  
  
Encke, Helios, Cain, Praxis, and even Athos fall silent when Deimos approaches. He ignores all of them except Cain, edging up to him with a curved body and wagging tail.  
  
Cain whirls and snarls, and Deimos jumps back, averting his face.  
  
“Cain!” snaps Encke.  
  
Cain looks away, seething, and abruptly stalks off to lie down at Ethan’s feet. Ethan props his injured foot on Cain’s back, and the dog settles himself more comfortably, still glaring across the grass at Deimos.  
  
Deimos gazes sadly at him for one more moment, then looks down. He wants something to gnaw on, but the stick he had last time isn’t by the fountain where he left it, and anyway that would be too close to where Cain is lying. He’ll have to find a new one.  
  
“Deimos, where were you last week?” Praxis asks. “I—”  
  
“Did you really bite Cain’s human?” Helios interrupts.  
  
Deimos glares. “What do you think.” He tries to push past them, but they follow him.  
  
Athos bounds along. “I told you! He wouldn’t tell me anything! He was gone for DAYS and then he smelled funny when he came back! He smelled like the vet! I never knew anyone who went to the vet for that long!”  
  
Encke asks, “Deimos, were you sick?”  
  
“Is that why you BIT him?” trills Athos.  
  
“Do I look sick?”  
  
“No,” says Encke, “but you could be better by now. Especially if you were at the vet that long. Let me smell you.”  
  
Deimos stops reluctantly and allows Encke and the rest to sniff him in turn.  
  
“You don’t smell sick,” Encke pronounces, and the others agree. “You don’t smell very happy either, though.”  
  
“You wouldn’t be very happy if you’d been in jail.”  
  
“I’d be happy to get out,” says Helios.  
  
“Is that where you were?” Praxis asks. “Did they lock you up?” He gently noses Deimos’ shoulder, but the terrier pulls away.  
  
The group meanders slowly across the length of the park, breaks up to investigate the long low conifer bushes for recent signs of rats, and, finding none, reforms.  
  
“Why would you bite Cain’s human?” Helios asks, falling in beside Deimos. “He’s so nice and he smells good and he never says no.”  
  
Deimos sniffs. “He was growling at my human. That’s not very nice.”  
  
“But you can’t bite _them_ ,” Praxis argues. “It’s not right. If you have to bite someone you should bite Cain.” His sensitive nose twitches at the memory of Deimos’ sharp teeth.  
  
“Yeah,” jokes Helios, “you have to let them bite each other.”  
  
“They don’t bite. Have you ever seen any of them bite?”  
  
“I saw MINE bite someone once!” Athos shouts.  
  
The others turn skeptical looks on him.  
  
“I did! They were sitting on the couch watching tv!”  
  
“What were they fighting about?” asks Helios. “Food? Who got the best spot?”    
  
“They weren’t fighting! That’s the weirdest part. They were all cuddly and then he just BIT the other one so I jumped up there and yelled because the other one must have done something bad but mine said nono and then they went in the bedroom for the whole night and locked me out!”  
  
Deimos sniffs again. “That’s just play—they can’t bite for real. They don’t have proper teeth, that’s why all their meat is cooked. They need us to do it for them.”  
  
Encke says seriously, “Deimos, do you understand that biting a human is wrong?”  
  
He looks away.  
  
“Even if you don’t understand why, it’s important that you not do it. Other humans could take you away forever—”  
  
“Or worse,” Praxis whispers.  
  
“—and then your human would be left all alone.”  
  
Deimos’ tongue flicks upward to his nose.  
  
“It happens if they think you’re dangerous to them. Some dogs get taken away the first time they bite. You’re small—no offense—and that’s probably why you only got jail this time, but I’ve seen dogs much smaller than you go away because they bit humans.”  
  
“It’s true,” adds Praxis. “There was a chihuahua in the shelter who had bitten someone, and a dachshund. It’s not necessarily your own human who decides it, either. The chihuahua bit a stranger, and her human didn’t want her to go but the others just came and took her anyway. She…didn’t stay long.”  
  
Deimos stares up at him, then shakes himself and trots away toward the trees at the edge of the park.  
  
Before anyone can react, Encke barks, “All right men, fall in. I want five laps around the park, and make it loud and haphazard.”  
  
***  
  
“Hello,” Jules says in what is probably intended to be a cheerful tone.  
  
“Hey,” Ethan replies, shifting his hurt foot. He means to be cool-and-casual-but-with-undertones-of-righteous-anger, but what he actually sounds like is wary.  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“Uh, okay.”  
  
Jules glances down. “How is your foot doing?”  
  
_Oh god oh god this is so painful please let it end. I guess I have to make it end._ “It’s, um, kind of painful. Like, not screaming in agony painful but you know, can’t walk very far or stand very long painful. Unless I step on it the wrong way, then it’s kind of…yeah anyway.” _SHUT UP ETHAN._  
  
“Oh no, did you have to miss work?”  
  
“Yeah. Four shifts.”  
  
“Oh god I’m so sorry,” Jules babbles. “How much do you earn per shift? I’ll pay for it.”  
  
Chris winces, and Ardhendu pulls his nose out of his phone long enough to cast a look at him that would singe charcoal. Ethan wonders about this for about a quarter of a second, but there are more important things at hand. “Umm, well I’m a server? So it’s not a consistent amount, because of tips.”  
  
“Oh, of course! I mean, um, what would be an average take? Or a good take.”  
  
“I—we can talk about that later, okay? It’s kind of public here.”  
  
“Oh! Um, of course! Sorry. I didn’t mean to…you know.” Jules is actually wringing his hands, not in the shaking-in-the air way but in the looks-like-he’s-trying-to-crush-one-with-the-other way.  
  
Ethan’s starting to feel sorry for him. “Do you, uh, want to sit down? We can talk about something else if you want.”  
  
Jules settles himself on the edge of the fountain as carefully as if it were _his_ foot that were injured. Considerably more carefully than Ethan had, actually.  
  
“I’m going to, uh, go find Athos.” Chris edges away. Ardhendu’s eyes flicker halfway up his retreating form, convey something like _yeah bitch you better run_ , and drop back to his phone again.  
  
“I brought you some hipster donuts,” Jules offers. He produces a crinkly white paper bag and waves it feebly in the air.  
  
Ardhendu snatches the bag. “Ooh, pomegranate nutella! And tahini blood orange. Bribe accepted!” He snags two donuts and a napkin, and retreats back to his bench.  
  
“Ardhendu!” Ethan giggles in spite of himself. “Chill. _You’re_ not the one who’s getting bribed.”  
  
“Yes, I am. This is my cut for driving you here. And to the clin—well anyway.” He stuffs a quarter of a donut in his mouth.  
  
“Fair enough.” Ethan digs into the bag and pulls out a blueberry mascarpone. “Do you want one, Jules?”  
  
“I shouldn’t. It’s your, um, bribe, hahaha.”

“Naw, it’s fine, I can’t eat them all myself.” He shoves the bag at Jules, who breaks off half a grapefruit brulee and delicately wraps a napkin around it. “How do you manage to eat so neatly?" he asks with his mouth full. "I’m already covered with crumbs after just one bite.”  
  
Jules looks up at him with something approaching his usual pertness. “It’s called _using a napkin_ , Ethan.”  
  
“I AM using a napkin!”  
  
“No you’re not. You’re just scrunching it up in your hand. That’s like saying you’re wearing a jacket when it’s rolled up in a ball on the floor near you.”  
  
“It is not, I’m _holding_ it. In my hand.”  
  
“But you’re not actively using it. Here—” he reaches out and snatches the napkin, shakes it out, and takes Ethan’s hand. Ethan’s eyes widen, but Jules doesn’t notice. “Put it like this, so it lines your hand and the edges curve up, not down. That way you can change the shape and the crumbs stay in.”  
  
Ethan stares at his hand. He flexes it, and a cascade of crumbs spills out onto his lap.  
  
“For crying out loud. Are you three years old?”  
  
“Look, I’m just experimenting, okay? I have to figure it out by myself.”  
  
“I’m just trying to _show_ you what works so you don’t have to spend _hours_ practicing—”  
  
“I do not need to spend _hours_ practicing how to use a napkin. I fold napkins _professionally_.”  
  
Ardhendu rolls his eyes.  
  
***  
  
Deimos noses through the underbrush. Some interesting smells, but no good sticks yet. He refuses to think about anything else. There’s no point in worrying. He hears the crunch of a leaf behind him, and turns around.  
  
Praxis is standing there, holding the poplar stick from two weeks ago carefully in his jaws. The stick that’s _familiar/good/mine!_ Why does Praxis have it? The Doberman sets it down on the ground, and takes a step back. “I saw you dropped this last time. So I hid it behind a bush for you.”  
  
Deimos stares at the stick.  
  
“They don’t look behind the bushes. When they clean.”  
  
His mind churns. _If I like sticks—if I like this stick—if Praxis understood this stick was valuable—this stick—maybe—he didn’t want it before but maybe—maybe it’s different now, maybe he understands more…._ Deimos steps forward and picks up the stick, then trots quickly in the direction of the fountain.  
  
Praxis watches him go in bewilderment. _You will never know,_ he thinks, _how hard it was for me to pick up that stick. And how amazed I am, how it thrills me, that you dare to chew on them. I’ll never, ever tell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I did not make up those donut flavors. Seriously.


	4. Chapter 4

Ethan forces himself not to flinch as he sees Deimos approach. _They can smell fear, right? Not that I’m actually afraid. Such a little thing. Cain could eat him up. Besides, he’s carrying that stupid stick. It would take a moment for him to drop it, and then I could get ready to kick him away. But he’s not going to try anything. That’s ridiculous. He was just startled last time._  
  
“Aww, Deimos found his stick!” Jules bends down and calls for him, but the terrier makes a beeline for Ethan and lays the stick on the ground in front of him.  
  
Ethan’s ankle tenses, and he shifts his bad foot down to the ground behind Cain. “Is he—trying to play fetch?”  
  
“I think he’s bringing you a present. Are you bringing Ethan a present, honey?” Jules sits up, brushing his hair back from his face. “Deimos doesn’t play fetch. He works on sticks until they’re smooth and pretty, and then he takes them home for his collection. But sometimes if he likes you a lot, he’ll give you one.”  
  
“Okay…” Ethan says dubiously. “So um, what do I do then?”  
  
“Pick it up, silly. And then look at it and pet it and talk about how nice it is.”  
  
Brow furrowed, Ethan bends forward tentatively, only to startle back when Deimos snatches up the stick and takes a step backward. Cain growls.  
  
“Oh—” Jules flutters. “I guess not, then. I wonder—”  
  
Deimos takes a cautious step forward, body hunched and gaze lowered, and lays the stick down again. His stubby little tail wags. Ethan suddenly realizes that even though he’s not looking directly at Cain, all of Deimos’ attention is on the larger dog. “I think he’s—”  
  
Cain lunges forward, snarling, and Deimos bolts for the trees.  
  
“Cain!” shouts Ethan, grabbing his collar.  
  
Cain lets out a volley of furious barks, then finally sinks down again.  
  
“Christ.” Jules clutches his chest. “You really should keep him on a leash.”  
  
“He didn’t do it at _you_ ,” Ethan snaps reflexively.  
  
“He might’ve _crushed_ Deimos if he hadn’t run.”  
  
“Oh come on, he doesn’t bite.”  
  
“He bites Praxis.”  
  
“ _Everyone_ bites Praxis.” Ethan glares pointedly at Deimos’ face, the only part of him that’s visible under the hedge.  
  
Ardhendu looks up from his phone. “ _Helios_ has never bitten Praxis. _Athos_ has never bitten Praxis. _Encke_ has never bitten Praxis.”  
  
“ _Okay_ , okay.”  
  
Praxis hears his name and comes over to be petted. “ _Fenrir_ has never bitten Praxis,” Ardhendu whispers to him. Praxis wags the stump of his tail.  
  
Helios sees that Praxis is getting attention from his human and rushes up to wriggle in between them. Athos and Encke smell opportunity and jog over too.

***  
  
From halfway across the yard, Aidan frowns, then looks down at the frisbee in his hand.

“Are you seriously jealous over a _dog_?” Chris says from behind him at a distance of roughly three inches.  
  
“Gah!” He drops the frisbee.  
  
“Or is it that the dogs get to be petted by…someone else?”  
  
“Jeez, Chris.” Aidan considers how to pick up the frisbee without inviting suggestive commentary—should he turn all the way around? no, too obvious—but Chris swoops down from behind and reaches around Aidan to hand it to him. “Uh, thanks.” He sidles around so that Chris is next to him instead of behind.  
  
“He _is_ pretty cute,” Chris says thoughtfully.  
  
“Well don’t be shy then, go over and talk to him,” snarks Aidan in an unaccustomed fit of ferocity.  
  
Chris’ startled laugh rings out across the dog park. “Baby got bite!” He leans closer and whispers, “I’m trying to show Ethan that I’m not with Jules anymore.”  
  
“You’re—what?” Aidan’s head swivels. “Wait are you….ohhhhh. I see.” He grins. “Why not hit up Ardhendu then? Since he’s soooo cute.”  
  
“Umm,” Chris clears his throat. “Reasons.”  
  
“Reasons?”  
  
“Well, he can be a bit prickly. You know.”  
  
“So I was an easier target, is what you’re saying.”  
  
“Clearly you are no one’s target.” He looks down at the battered, tooth-marked blue frisbee. “You are the wielder of the deadly discus.”  
  
Aidan eyes him skeptically. “It hasn’t killed anyone yet.”  
  
“Only because they haven’t put it in their mouths.”  
  
“Hey! That’s awfully germphobic for someone who carries an entire dog in his pocket.”  
  
“Oh, I’m not germphobic. I’m too strong for germs, baby. Lay it on me.” He makes a muscle, then eyes Aidan, hoping for a bicep squeeze.  
  
“So if I throw it to you, you could catch it in your teeth like a dog?”  
  
“Oooh, I didn’t know you were kinky.”  
  
Aidan glances toward the fountain and suddenly laughs. “My god, that would confuse Praxis so much.”  
  
“What, he doesn’t know you’re kinky? Are you in the closet to your own dog?”  
  
“No, if you started catching the frisbee in your teeth. He’s never seen me throw it to a human before.”  
  
“So I don’t actually have to catch it with my _teeth_ , is what you’re saying.”  
  
“Oh, are you saying you can’t?”  
  
“Well no, I’m sure I could do it. The question is do I _want_ to.”  
  
“Of course you do. You’re adventurous, right? You like trying new things.”  
  
“Try, yes. Be hit in the mouth by at high speed, not so much.”  
  
Aidan smiles innocently at him. “I didn’t know you were so vanilla.”  
  
Chris stares at him for a moment, and then laughs again. “You manipulative wretch! Here, how about if I just—” he takes the frisbee and puts it in his mouth, then jogs about twenty feet away and curves back toward Aidan. He comes to a stop and gestures with his head.  
  
Aidan gazes at him. “Yes?”  
  
Chris glances down at the frisbee in his mouth and makes a face. “Take viff aweddy.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t understand you.” Aidan lifts up his phone and snaps a picture.  
  
He spits out the frisbee indignantly, and then spits some more, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Gaah. That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done. I hope you’re happy.”  
  
Aidan examines his phone and smiles. “Well, to be really authentic you should’ve been naked and on all fours. But yes, I’m happy.”  
  
“I can’t BELIEVE you took a picture. I feel like I should be charging you a modeling fee.”  
  
“But you didn’t even take your clothes off.” He blinks innocently, halo of flaxen curls ruffled by the breeze.  
  
“I’m not that kind of boy. You have to at least buy me a drink first.”  
  
“Just one?”  
  
“At LEAST one. Probably more, to make me forget about the hell you put me through.”  
  
Aidan cheerfully slaps him on the back. “I’ll buy you a coffee from the place across the street. That’ll get the taste out of your mouth.”  
  
“But what will get the taste out of my MIND?”  
  
“You’ll just have to learn to like it.”  
  
Chris clutches his face. “I can’t tell if I should report you to the police or…report you to the police. You must have bodies buried in your backyard.”  
  
“Snitches get stitches.”  
  
“I take it back. You’re a demon. I need an exorcist.”  
  
“Good luck with that.” Aidan picks up the frisbee and starts off toward the roaming dog herd, who have exhausted Ardhendu’s reserves of patience and decided to hit up Keeler in the vain hope of treats. Keeler absentmindedly stoops down to pet them, but continues talking to the determined-looking woman in her sixties who’s been monopolizing him for at least twenty minutes.  
  
“Wait! What about my drink?”  
  
“Were you going to go carousing and leave Athos here all alone?”  
  
“Well, no, I was more expecting to grab a macchiato and come back. You want to go carousing?” He looks hopeful.  
  
“What a terrible pet dad you are. Athos could be eaten by a squirrel, or accidentally inhaled by a larger dog.”  
  
“He’s under supervision. But that’s a good idea, he can protect me from you.”  
  
“Um. Yeah.” Aidan considers the time investment involved in getting Praxis’ attention—when he’s with his dog friends he’s suspiciously deaf and blind to anything Aidan does—and changes his mind. “You know what, let’s not be helicopter parents. Kids need space to learn and grow.” He flashes Chris a sideways grin. “Especially Athos.”  
  
“Athos is quite big enough, thank you. And hey, at least you know I’m not compensating for something.”  
  
Aidan snorts. “You could be trying to make something look bigger.”  
  
Chris gasps. “What are you suggesting?”  
  
“Nothing. Shall we?” He tilts his head toward the cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I never posted this before.


End file.
